


This isn't what it looks like...

by Nostalgia_101



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:08:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016766
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nostalgia_101/pseuds/Nostalgia_101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times Oliver and Felicity claimed 'it wasn't what it looked like', and one time when it was actually was...</p>
            </blockquote>





	This isn't what it looks like...

Scrolling through the day’s news on his iPad, Diggle rounded the corner of the lair to find Oliver lying on the gym mat shirtless, on top of Felicity, both slightly panting. Clearing his throat, he hid a smirk as they scrambled to their feet, Oliver holding out his hand to help the blonde. “I leave you two alone for five minutes…” Diggle jokingly scolded.

“Hey Digg!” Felicity chirped a little too loudly, batting away Oliver’s arm. “Just FYI, this isn’t what it looks like.”

He took a seat on one of the steel bench tops, raising an eyebrow. “It _doesn’t_ look like a training session?”

“Well… yeah,” she stammered, tugging at her tank top where it had accidentally ridden up her stomach. “In that case it _is_ what it looks like, but I mean, like, the added heavy breathing and the lingering and the…” she linked her fingers together haphazardly, “general state of sweaty entwinement, _isn’t_ what it looks like.”

Diggle kept another grin from emerging as he noticed Oliver trying not to react to their co-worker’s choice of words. “And that would be?” he asked, unable to resist poking fun.

“Nothing,” Oliver answered, reaching for a nearby towel to wipe down his face and chest. “I was just showing Felicity some safe ways to fall so she doesn’t hurt herself like last time.”

“Would that be landmine last time or busting through a window of a high-rise building last time?” said Digg. “I mean, no judgement, but you two like to play Tarzan and Jane a _lot_.”

“Great, and now I have mental images of Oliver in a loincloth,” Felicity murmured, scrunching her nose in embarrassment when she heard Diggle snort. “Oh God, my inside thoughts are just not meant to be outside thoughts at all.”

“First of all,” Oliver interrupted, slipping a gray t-shirt over his head, “let’s put a ban on the word ‘loincloth’. It just creeps me out. And second of all,” he added, defiantly crossing his arms, “my rescue to Tarzan ratio isn’t that high.”

Diggle shrugged. “Nothing to be ashamed of, man. You shoot, you swing, you save the day.”

“Exactly. You’re a great swinger!” Felicity added, immediately regretting her input. “Not in a sexual way of course, like, ‘hey let’s go to a key party’…” She tilted her head curiously. “Do they even have key parties anymore? Or is it more tech these days with people putting their cell phones into a bowl? Not that it matters,” she said, snapping out of her thoughts at the looks on the boys’ faces, “because that is not the point.” She paused, glancing at Oliver. “What is my point again?”

“Me not Tarzan, you not Jane,” Oliver deadpanned.

“You should get that embroidered on a pillow or something,” said Digg.

“Are you just here to make quips or do you have some news?” Oliver said, trying to hide a flicker of bemusement betraying his lips.

“Neither,” Digg replied, putting down the iPad. “Slow news day for once. You guys want to grab some lunch?” They both nodded. “I’ll go get the car while you change out of your gym clothes. Make sure you use the door, Oliver,” he called back over his shoulder. “It’s a bitch getting those windows fixed.”

Oliver cupped his hands around his mouth. “You’re hilarious,” he retorted, hearing Felicity chuckle behind him. “And you’re only encouraging him,” said Oliver, pretending to be offended. “Whose side are you on anyway?”

“Hey, I pledge my allegiance to the flag, nothing else,” she replied, holding her arms up in surrender.

He watched as she fixed up her ponytail. “Do you want to do more training tonight? I still don’t feel like we got that last move down.”

“Yeah, sure,” she smiled. “Thanks for teaching me all this stuff, too. It’ll be nice not to bruise my shoulder next time around.” Felicity felt remorseful when she saw Oliver’s face fall. “Hey, don’t start with the guilt-pout,” she said gently. “It’s all part-and-parcel of the job, and I wear my battle-wounds with pride, OK?”

“OK,” he murmured, none too convincingly. “It doesn’t mean I don’t worry though.”

“I know,” she said, giving his arm a squeeze. “But hey, bright side to all this? You _do_ get to play Tarzan without having to wear,” she lowered her voice to a dramatic whisper, “ _the l-word_.”

Oliver’s mouth quirked into a smile as they walked side-by-side to the changing rooms. “I dressed up as Tarzan once for a high school Halloween party,” he admitted.

She bit back a laugh. “How did that feel?”

“… Breezy.”

“I am so going to try and dig up photos from that party.”

“Never going to happen.”

She raised an eyebrow. “If it’s online. I can find it.”

* * *

Thea leant against the doorframe of her bedroom, arms-crossed, watching her brother rummage through her closet. “Can I help you?” she asked, relishing in startling him.

“Speedy, hey, I was just uh…” Oliver guiltily held up the item in his hands. “Looking for a dress.”

“Personally I think empire-line is more your style,” she replied, walking towards him, “but it’s nice to see you’re embracing your inner-Cinderella.”

Oliver rolled his eyes. “It’s not for me, it’s for… charity.”

“Oh, _charity_ ,” she repeated, resisting the urge to throw in some air quotes. “Now would that be the goodwill kind of charity?” She flopped onto her bed with a grin. “Or maybe a girl called Charity who needs something respectable to slip out of the house in?”

He pursed his lips. “The first one.”

Thea cocked her head to the side. “OK, so say I believe you, that means you’re giving _one_ whole item of clothing to goodwill? I don’t know about you, Ollie, but that doesn’t seem very charitable to me.”

“… Can we go back to the Disney princess thing?”

The siblings turned their heads towards the door when they heard someone scoff. Felicity strode in, hair wet, wearing Oliver’s bathrobe. “This is the sports bottle all over again,” she muttered, coming to a stop next to Oliver. “Hey Thea,” she said, plastering on a smile.

Oliver held up a hand to quieten his sister when he saw her eyes widen in glee. “This isn’t what it looks like so you can stop with the face.”

“Oh no?” Thea replied, sitting up attentively. “You mean Felicity, as in your wonderful assistant Felicity, isn’t standing in our house freshly showered?” She noticed a few drops of water lingering in her brother’s hair. “Much like yourself?” Thea kicked her legs out in excitement. “This is so awesome.”

“Nothing is… nothing is awesome,” Oliver sighed, scrubbing a hand over his face before turning to his friend. “I thought you were waiting in the guest room?”

“I was but you were taking forever,” she replied, looking closer at the dress he was clutching. “Green, Oliver?” she said under her breath. “Really?”

He gave her a sheepish shrug. “I thought you’d look nice in it.”

“I’ll bet you did,” laughed Thea.

Oliver pointed a finger at her. “Still not awesome.”

“Uh, still not explaining why it’s ‘not what it looks like’,” she reminded them; deciding air quotes were entirely appropriate this time around.

“You’re right,” agreed Felicity, pulling the robe tighter around her body. “And an explanation you shall receive. See the thing is, I’m a klutz.”

Thea frowned. “OK?”

“Big, huge, ‘look up the word on dictionary dot com and there’s my photo’ kind of klutz,” she added, laughing nervously.

“She tripped over thin air once,” Oliver added helpfully.

“Fine, you’re clumsy,” said Thea nonchalantly. “So you… tripped and fell into bed with Oliver?” she smirked.

Felicity’s eyes widened. “What? No! No, no, no. I came over to talk shop with the old boss man here,” she gave Oliver a playful one-two punch on the arm, instantly cringing at her own lameness, “and we decided to do a walk and talk outside near the pool. And well, one klutzy thing led to another and next thing you know my heel gets caught and I’m taking an unscheduled swim.” Felicity threw up her hands in a ‘whatcha gonna do?’ motion. “Then Oliver decided to play the hero and jump in after me, hence the shower.” She flinched. “Very _separate_ showers.”

Oliver nodded. “That’s all that happened, Speedy. We’re not re-enacting one of your episodes of Scandal.”

“I regret updating you on your pop culture references if you’re just going to sass me with them,” Thea pouted.

“So is it OK if Felicity borrows one of your outfits?”

“I promise I’ll return it ASAP,” said Felicity.

Standing up, Thea gestured to her wardrobe. “It’s cool, you can take what you like. Just don’t go falling into anymore swimming pools, will you?” she teased, flouncing out of her room. “You guys are horrible liars by the way!” her voice echoed down the hall.

Taking the dress from Oliver, Felicity shook her head. “I’m sorry Thea got the wrong idea. I was so sure the klutz thing would sound convincing.”

“It’s OK,” Oliver replied. “I’d rather her think that than find out the truth.”

“Speaking of the truth,” she said, glancing up at him, “are we going to tell Digg about our latest Tarzan-style swing away from the baddies that ended up with us landing in the world’s grossest dumpster?” 

Oliver smirked. “Why do you think we came here to change instead of the club?”

* * *

“I wonder why prisons are painted in such dismal colors?”

Snapping out of his silent mood, Oliver shifted in the uncomfortable visitor’s room chair and turned to face Felicity. “Honestly, it’s not something I’ve given much thought to.”

“Really though,” Felicity continued, fiddling with her purse strap as she took in the dull interior, “I don’t think the décor is doing anyone any favors. I mean, most people in here you don’t want to piss off even more, y’know? So why not paint the walls a cheery yellow instead of ‘ode to dishwater’?” 

Oliver rubbed the back of his neck. “Are we really having this conversation right now?”

Wincing, Felicity shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’m just trying to take your mind off things. Obviously in the weirdest way possible because I’m nothing if not consistent.”

“I’m fine, Felicity. I’ve visited my mother in here before.”

“Yeah, but not like this,” she said quietly. “Not all defeated and worn-out.”

He took in a deep breath, glancing around at the burly prison guards. “I should have found a way to help her by now,” he said sorrowfully. “She needs me and I should be doing more.”

Felicity put her hand on his shoulder, feeling him tense further. “Hey, look at me,” she gently prodded, waiting for him to turn his head. “You have been doing everything in your power to get your mom out of here, OK? And as much as I know you’d just like to bow and arrow your way out of this, you’ll just have to find a different tactic.” She slid her arm down and held onto his hand. “And I _know_ you’ll find a solution.”

Ghosting his thumb back and forth across her hand, Oliver looked her in the eyes. “How do you know that?”

“Because you’re Oliver, and I believe in you,” she said, before chuckling softly to herself. “OK, that sounded a lot less after-school special in my head, but the sentiment still stands. You and Thea will have your mom home before you know it,” she said, squeezing his hand.

He gave her a brief but genuine smile. “Thank you, Felicity.”

“Any time.” Felicity caught someone in the corner of her eye and let go of Oliver’s hand. “Mrs Queen, it’s nice to see you.”

“You too Felicity,” said Moira politely before being enveloped in a hug from her son. “Hello sweetheart,” she said, feeling him embrace her a few seconds longer than normal.

Gathering her coat, Felicity stood as Oliver and his mom settled into their chairs. “I might go and wait outside, let you two chat properly.”

“You can stay if you like,” said Moira. “It’s always nice to see familiar faces around here.”

“No, no, that’s fine. I just wanted to keep your son company while he waited.” She smiled at him. “I’ll see you at the front desk, Oliver. Mrs Queen,” she added with a courteous nod before walking over to a guard to allow her leave.

Moira smiled as she watched Oliver making sure Felicity got out OK. “She’s a lovely girl, sweetheart.”

Jerking his head around, Oliver gave his mom a pointed look. “Don’t do the tone.”

“What tone?”

“The motherly ‘I approve’ tone”

She raised an eyebrow. “May I use my ‘I’m going to remark on how content you two looked holding hands’ tone then?”

“It’s not…” he open and shut his mouth a few times, before falling into a sigh. “It isn’t what it looks like.”

Moira regarded her son before nodding. “Alright. If you say so.” She noticed how tired her eldest child appeared, her heart going out to him. “I know this mustn’t be a good news visit or you would have already updated me by now.”

“Mom I…”

She tutted at him, letting him know she wasn’t upset. “It doesn’t matter. Right now, for these ten minutes we have today, it doesn’t matter. Let’s just sit and talk and pretend like we’re any other mother and son.”

Oliver reached across and held onto her hand. “Whatever you want.”

Smiling, Moira looked around the room. “You know, I wish I could get my interior decorator in here,” she said absently. “These gray-upon-gray walls are ghastly.”

Despite himself, Oliver chuckled. “So I’ve heard.” 

* * *

Flustered, Felicity tried to yank down the zipper on Oliver’s top. “I need to get you out of these clothes!” she stammered, ignoring the look on his face. “No time to berate my poor word choice right now, I just heard the elevator. He’s going to be here any second! You shouldn’t have come back to check on me,” she scolded.

Prying away his friend’s fingers, Oliver’s eyes darted around his office for an escape route. “Which is a worse fate? Being discovered as The Arrow or risking leaping out through another high-rise window?”

“If you end up an Oliver-shaped pancake, I do not want it on my conscience,” she chided, shoving him towards his upturned desk. “Ugh, God, just hide behind there.” She threw a box of tissues at him. “And clean off your make-up!” 

“It’s not make-up it’s camouflage paint,” he muttered sulkily before doing as he was told.

Felicity raced to the doorway of the office, smoothing down her skirt, which had become twisted in the scuffle, just as her concerned visitor arrived. “Detective, I mean, Officer Lance!” she said, stepping forward so he wouldn’t come any closer. “I told you I was OK, you didn’t have to come up here and see me.”

Quentin frowned. “After you risked yourself as hoodlum bait again? I don’t think so.” He observed the ransacked office space and her flushed face. “They really did a number on this place, are you sure you’re not hurt?”

Internally flinching at the complete see-through layout of the building, Felicity nodded. “I’m good as gold. Silver and bronze too. Promise.” She tried gently shoving him forward. “The Arrow took them down before they could steal our auction items and locked them up in the security office on Level Twenty. You should go and formally arrest them!”

Nearly tripping, Quentin suddenly froze as he saw a shoe sticking out from behind the desk in the office behind them. “Get out of here, Ms Smoak, quick as you can,” he said quietly, drawing his gun from his holster. “I think we may still have a perp on the premises.”

“What?” Felicity jerked her head around, nearly groaning when she saw Oliver’s foot. _What kind of damn vigilante was he?_ “Wait, it’s not what you think!” She stood in front of Officer Lance, making him lower his weapon just as Oliver poked his head up from behind the desk.

“Good evening, Officer Lance,” said Oliver, with as much dignity as he could muster. “Thank you for your help today.”

Quentin stared at the young man before him. “Are you… naked?” he said in a disturbed fashion.

“Of course not,” Oliver replied. “… I’ve just misplaced my shirt.”

Slowly re-holstering his gun, the policeman squinted at Oliver. “ _How_? But more importantly, _why_?!” He began to move forward. “Did they literally try and steal the shirt off your back too?”

“It’s not what it…” he began, before Felicity swooped in between the two men.

“We were making out just before you got here,” she suddenly blurted out.

“What?” said Oliver, dumbfounded.

“ _What_?” echoed Quentin.

“Yep, you caught us,” she spluttered, turning red. “Oliver was just so relieved that I was OK, and I was happy he was OK that feelings just exploded and we kissed,” she said, waving her hands around as she spoke. “And then, uh, the shirt was discarded and well, you know the rest.”

Quentin glanced between them both. “So let me get this straight. You two decided this was the perfect time to hook up?”

“Yes.”

“… In the middle of a crime scene?”

Oliver blinked. “It would appear so.”

He threw his hands up in the air. “Whatever. Just get dressed would you, Queen. We’ll need to take statements from you both as a formality. And Ms Smoak?”

“Yeah?” she gulped.

Quentin jerked his thumb towards Oliver. “Watch yourself with this one.” He gave one final weary shake of his head before heading back towards the elevator.

Even though her body was facing the other way, Felicity could feel Oliver’s eyes on her. She hunched her shoulders, waiting to be reprimanded for her outlandish tale.

“Felicity?”

“Is this the part where I scurry away?” she sheepishly asked as she turned around. But she was surprised to see a smirk on Oliver’s face. “Well as far as annoyed expressions go, this is a new one.”

“I just… would love to see inside your mind one day.” He hauled himself up. “And now I’m wondering what you would have said if Diggle were here too.”

“Let’s never find out,” she groaned.

* * *

The band played a slow, jazz-infused tune as couples danced their way across the ballroom floor. Oliver held Felicity close as he scoped out their surroundings at the city’s latest gala event. Or as he liked to think of it, ‘People in formalwear who were in danger from a psychopath: round twenty-two’.

“Any sign of him?” said Felicity, swaying in time to the music.

“Not yet,” he replied. “It’s still a bit early.”

“Then in that case can you please dance like the elegant gentleman I know is lurking inside there, because you’ve stepped on my feet twice now and no offense, but you’re kind of heavy.” She paused. “Mostly muscle-heavy I’m assuming, but my toes hurt all the same.”

He gave her an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

Felicity smiled at him. “It’s OK, I know arrow-ing takes priority over the waltz. Just, ouch, y’know?”

Oliver guided them past another couple before grinning slightly. “Elegant gentleman, huh?”

“Shut up.”

They chuckled as he slowly twirled them around. “You look really beautiful by the way.”

“Thanks,” she beamed, her cheeks tinting pink, as Oliver took in the strapless dress she was wearing in a deep shade of green. “Someone once said I might look nice in this color,” she teased.

His eyes twinkled mischievously as he held her just a little bit closer. “That someone must be a genius.”

“Modest too.” Feeling a bit too comfortable in his arms, Felicity put a pause on their dancing. “The ladies’ room beckons,” she quickly explained off his confused look. “I’ll be right back. Maybe you could go and dance with Isabel Rochev?”

Oliver made a face as Felicity began to walk away. “Or maybe I could just put myself in a sleeper hold instead.”

Finding the bathroom, Felicity turned off her inner-earpiece and looked at herself in the mirror, adjusting the emerald-encrusted clip in her hair. “Put those inappropriate thoughts away, Smoak,” she quietly chastised herself. “It’s not his fault he looks handsome in a suit.” Felicity snorted derisively. “Or handsome full stop. Stupid handsome bastard.” Hearing the door open, she stopped her rambling long enough to remain vigilant to her environment, nearly having a heart attack when none other than Laurel Lance appeared. They shared a smile as Laurel joined her at the vanity mirror.

“Hi Felicity,” she greeted, taking her lipstick out of her gold purse. “Having a good night so far?” 

“Yeah, it’s been great,” she enthused. “Getting dressed up, enjoying free food and wine, what’s not to love? Except maybe those mini shrimp puffs,” she added as an afterthought. “Just between you and me, I don’t think it’s real shrimp. I mean, I’m no seafood connoisseur, but they totally scrimped on the shrimp. Wow, try saying that ten times fast.”

“I don’t think I’d make it,” Laurel chuckled.

“And what about you? Are you having a good time?” Felicity pointed at herself. “Present company blabbering at you about seafood excluded of course.”

“I think so,” said Laurel, brushing back a strand of wavy hair. “I’m kind of on a date,” she sheepishly confessed. “And well, I think it’s going OK, but who knows how he’s feeling.”

“I’m sure he’s having a wonderful time too,” Felicity sincerely replied. “Your dad always says what a good person you are.”

“Well at least my dad thinks I’m cool,” she said with a laugh.

Felicity bit her lip. “Other people think that too… People who may or may not have a vital martini ingredient as part of their name.”

Amused, Laurel glanced at the blonde woman next to her. “For what it’s worth, I think Oliver thinks you’re pretty cool too,” she said kindly. “I noticed you two dancing before,” she explained at Felicity’s flabbergasted goldfish impersonation.

“We’re not, it’s not,” she rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s not what it looks like. Really.”

“OK,” she nodded. “Well, either way, just friends or something more… I think you’re really good for him. That’s all.” Giving Felicity’s arm a quick squeeze, Laurel slipped back out the door.

Rattled, Felicity took a few deep breaths before switching her earpiece back on just as Oliver’s voice came through. “Felicity? You there?”

“Um, yeah, sorry,” she replied, clearing her throat. “Go ahead.”

“It’s show time. I need you.”

“I’m on my way.”

* * *

Sinking back into her computer chair, Felicity checked the time, wondering when it suddenly became midnight. Stretching her limbs, she heard the door upstairs slide open. “If you forgot my spicy noodles I’m going to have to throw my shoe at you,” she called out. “Very badly of course, because I’m beyond tired, but it should at least make a dent in your thigh or something.” She spun around, expecting to see Oliver carrying take away containers but all he had in his hands was a bottle of wine and two glasses.

“I know I risk death by footwear, but I still come bearing gifts,” he smirked, placing the items on the desk beside her. “Well, one gift, but a gift all the same.”

“Liquid dinner, I can work with that,” she quipped, holding out a glass for him to pour the wine into. “Make mine entrée sized, though, I still need to figure out this code.”

Uncorking the bottle, Oliver tipped the wine into her glass before pouring one for himself. “I thought we could celebrate,” he said, barely concealing a broad grin.

Sitting up straighter, Felicity looked at him with intrigue. “Celebrate what?”

“I found a way to help my mom,” he replied, gracing her with a rare smile that lit up his whole face. “She’s going to come home, Felicity.”

“Oh my God, Oliver!” Felicity leapt up, not caring that she was sloshing around her drink, before wrapping him in a hug. “That’s such amazing news!” She grinned into his chest. “I am so beyond happy for you right now.”

He picked her up and spun her around, both of them laughing joyously. Not letting go, Oliver glanced down at her. “You were right,” he murmured with a smile. “As always.”

Felicity looked back at him. “You’re going to have to be more specific,” she teased. “I’m right a _lot_ of the time.”

Oliver lifted his hand to run through her hair, causing a soft gasp to get caught in her throat. “You knew I’d find a way,” he said, his mouth inching closer towards hers. “You believed in me.”

“I always do.” Her heart raced as she felt Oliver’s lips lightly brush against hers before they abandoned themselves completely to their pent-up urges. Felicity clutched Oliver’s shirt as he backed her into the desk, hearing the wine bottle fall off the side and smash onto the ground. “There goes dinner,” she murmured between kisses, feeling Oliver shrug against her body.

“I’m more of a breakfast person myself,” he said, trailing his mouth down her neck.

She shivered at the feeling of his stubble against her skin. “Maybe I’ll make you some in the morning,” she said, before bursting out laughing. “Oh God,” she said, burying her head against his chest in embarrassment. “I’ve become the pervy old man. The pervy, _presumptuous_ old man.” She tilted her head back to look at him, suddenly shy. “I mean, is this actually a thing? Or should we just think about this rationally and just kid ourselves into believing that it’s not what it looks like?” 

“Screw being rational,” said Oliver, lifting her up so she was sitting on the desk. “This is _exactly_ what it looks like.” He kissed the underside of her jaw. “And for the record, I like poached eggs.”

Felicity grinned. “Does this mean you’ll dress up as Tarzan again if I ask you to?” She heard him laugh. “What can I say? You’ve given me a jungle kink.”

“… We’ll see.”


End file.
